


to lay you down

by sugarboat



Series: The Bee Movie, but every time they say the word 'bee' someone becomes a living hive [3]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Power Swap, Body Horror, Body Modification, Flesh!Elias, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Living Hive!Jon, M/M, of a very literal nature
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:14:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22819846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarboat/pseuds/sugarboat
Summary: Relationships are give and take.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan Sims
Series: The Bee Movie, but every time they say the word 'bee' someone becomes a living hive [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1301540
Comments: 35
Kudos: 134





	to lay you down

Jon’s masochistic streak only extends so far, so Elias keeps their pelvises flush together as he digs his hand into Jon’s chest. Searching by feel alone because he can hardly look away from the flush on his hive’s face. Loathe to miss a small gasp, how Jon’s lips part around a whimper of air, how tears well in his eyes and glitter wet and thick on his eyelashes when he blinks. 

Elias presses in, through tissue and muscle, and wraps his free hand around both of their cocks, coaxing Jon back to full hardness. Jon whines and shifts restlessly, his own hands clawing at Elias’ shoulders, helping to keep his balance.

The vibrant resonance of the flesh is all around them, between them. Concordant notes when Jon’s hips roll in time to Elias’. Muscle strands like threads of yarn, stitches to follow and unwind and unravel, remake. Like threads, or like strains of music, new chords alive beneath each movement of Elias’ hands. 

One hand grasps, tightens, strokes. Jon rolls his head back, bares his neck, and bees vibrate in his throat. One hand searches, reaches, works fingers through Jon’s threads. Jon groans, dismay or pleasure. It’s not clear to either of them where the line is anymore. 

Elias finds what he’s looking for. The sharp, slender bowing of a rib that fits perfectly to his palm. Lowest note of an ascending scale as he walks his fingers through delicate tissue, crawling up. Pushing between their spaces where he feels Jon’s breath suffuse his lungs, plush tissue rising and filling and falling rapidly. 

“Elias,” Jon says, the breath he takes to voice this pressing up into Elias’ fingers, sighing away. 

That breathing stills and hitches, spasms wildly as Elias tracks the long sloping form of Jon’s ribcage to where it all tangles together like a neatly tied bow in the center of his chest. He thinks he’d like to take one of the larger ones, anyway. 

There was a time when he simply wouldn’t have had the finesse to do what he wants to – needs to – now. Digging his nails into cartilage and pulling it taffy-like into strings. The hive buzzes around them both, flitting scintillations of their wings catching light. They almost poise to strike but don’t, crawl restless and agitated as Jon fists his hands into the sheets and swallows back the whimpers Elias would really rather just hear. 

“You’re doing so well, Jon,” Elias tells him, smiling at the breathless, sardonic laugh Jon gives in reply. The tension in the muscles Elias is determinedly peeling apart as Jon hurts himself with his own response, with Elias’ hand in his chest and the tip of his rib beginning to poke out against his skin. 

“I don’t-” Jon stops and shudders, and Elias pulls, gentle but insistent. “Don’t have many options, do I?” 

In terms of a response to this stimulus, he means, but Elias has to pause and dip himself down, bring their lips together. It does feel like a bit of inevitability. The two of them here. How else could it possibly be? Jon is sluggish in returning his affections, languid and almost intoxicated. Like he’s drunk on the pain Elias inflicts, the pleasure Elias demands. 

Jon chases after his mouth when they part, rolls his head back so Elias can watch his throat work as he swallows and groans, and Elias thinks idly how he’s so nearly perfect. There’s something beautiful and awful waiting inside of him. Possessive and hungry, and if Elias could only crack this shell for him. Allow free the creature that would want and take and own, that Jon tries so desperately to suppress. 

It takes very little effort after that to wrench the entire bone free. A twist and something like a pop, and Jon convulses like he’s going to gag. Elias comes with a groan, spilling across Jon’s softened cock and his pelvis, feeling himself twitch and throb at the thought of the mess he’s made. How he can come on Jon’s skin and watch it drip inside him all the same. 

Jon’s rib slides out of his skin wetly, with a squelch of displaced flesh and muscle. He’s shaking uncontrollably now, whimpering even as Elias shushes him gently, lays the pale arc of his bone to their side so he can pet across Jon’s skin. Pluck and pull at Jon’s cock until he’s hard again. 

He leans down to mouth against the ugly, blossoming bruise coming to life in cloudbursts of angry purple and red along the path Jon’s rib used to take. Kisses upwards from there along the trellis of his heaving ribcage, slips his tongue into the combs of the hive along his way. Bites and sucks open-mouthed at Jon’s chest, takes his nipple into his mouth and between his teeth and relishes how Jon arches and squirms.

“Jon,” he murmurs, after he’s licked and bitten his way back to Jon’s jawline, “I want you to watch now.” 

“Y-Yes. Of course.” _Anything_ , remains unspoken except in how Jon cranes towards him, the dark fixation of his gaze severe and riveted. Rapt. 

Elias straightens himself. It’s easy to put himself on display. Flex his spine and expand his chest. Draw his hands down himself and shudder beneath his own touch. Beneath the heat of Jon’s gaze as it follows his hands, almost heavy enough to crawl like his swarm does, a ticklish, prickling sensation. 

He touches himself, over his stomach and down to his pelvis. Spreading his thighs to cup the weight of his spent cock and sac in his palm. Jon watches. Licks his lips almost hungrily. 

All teasing foreplay to the main event, when Elias sinks his fingers through his own flesh. Pushing through the cartilage of his own sternum to separate a rib. His meat is tender, and singing, parts easily around his bone as he slides it free. It hurts, of course. The pain is just another strain in the chorus. High pitched and sonorous, setting his nerves alight sweetly. He draws it out, breaking the connection of his rib to his spine slowly. 

Their bones look alike, wet and curved. Jon reaches up and traces the soft, damaged indent where Elias’ rib once sat. His fingers brush over tissue, over muscle. Swelling lung and the steady beat of Elias’ heart, flexing close to his skin now. 

It takes only minor adjustments to fit his rib to the empty slot in Jon’s chest. Tweaking the angle of the curve, the length of his bone. Jon gasps throughout the process. A choked little sob when his new rib is anchored to his spine, the squishy goo of his cartilage. 

Elias leaves Jon’s rib as intact as possible as he slides it in to join his own set. It buzzes in his hand, under his skin, feels hot and alive with fever. He imagines filament thin connections strung between himself and Jon, stretchy and sticky like webs of honey. 

Jon’s hands are at his shoulders when Elias finishes. Pulling him down, slinking around to loop around his neck. Jon shudders when their lips meet before surging up against him, his cock hard and needy where it presses to Elias’ pelvis. A few quick tugs are all it takes to have Jon spill. 

They tangle together, lax and sated. Jon touches his new rib, reaches out to touch Elias’. The hive is still and quiet around them. 

It’s only a matter of time before they have to stir. Before Jon’s fastidious nature makes them move to the showers, before his fussy little hive has had too much intimacy and feels the need to flee entirely. 

But for now they have this. A sunlit room and a lazy afternoon. And the hum of their bones, separate and in tune.


End file.
